


Timing Is Everything (But Whiskey Helps Too)

by orphan_account



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-08
Updated: 2011-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-25 20:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A natural progression of things, facilitated by fortuitous timing, an unlocked door, and likely more liquor than is strictly advisable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Timing Is Everything (But Whiskey Helps Too)

**Author's Note:**

> Critique is just as welcome as praise, as long as you're sharing your thoughts :)

To say that Isaac was not expecting a chest full of jizz courtesy of Tommy Joe is an understatement.

He kind of wants to ask Tommy what the fuck just happened. But the part of his brain that handles complex phrases like "what the fuck just happened, man" seems to have been left out in the dressing room, along with Tommy's pants, and also dignity. (His sobriety was ditched on stage a while back - along with Isaac's shirt, luckily. That would've been a bitch of a stain.)

Anyway, Isaac isn't stupid, and isn't _that_ drunk, and eventually enough of his brain resumes functioning for him to put the pieces together - he'd walked in on some post-show Tommy time, and just in time to catch (literally) the grand finale. Right. Honest mistake. They can laugh this off in a minute. But for now, they're both standing in the tiny washroom, gaping at each other, apparently unable to form words.

In fact, the only party attempting to communicate at all is Isaac's dick, which is making a surprising but valiant effort to get itself noticed. Tommy's not particularly subtle on his best days; now, still drunk from the show and in a vague post-orgasmic haze, he can only stare at the rapidly developing bulge in Isaac's jeans as Isaac whips around to try and disguise it.

He's halfway out the door, ready to find some paper towels and their ever-present bottle of Jack, turn on some Metallica and forget this ever happened, when - "Um…you want help cleaning that off?"

Isaac takes a moment to process this. They've done a lot of weird and crazy shit together, don't even get him _started_ on that back alley in Singapore, but this is new. New and different and yet, strangely, not strange for them at all. In the end, he drunkenly reasons that since Tommy did make the mess, it's only right for him to clean it up.

He turns back around to find Tommy standing there with his pants still open, offering a damp washcloth and half a smile. He walks into the bathroom and leans back against the sink, both palms down behind him on the counter, wondering if Tommy really meant what he said.

To Tommy's credit, he only hesitates for a fraction of a second before reaching out and wiping in one long motion down the center of Isaac's chest. He repeats the motion a few times, studiously staying a good six inches above the waistline of Isaac's jeans and avoiding the hell out of his nipples, before Isaac realizes how fucking _tentative_ he's being.

Tentative is for pussies. They play in a rock band together. That shit isn't gonna fly.

"I think you missed a spot."

The words are out of Isaac's mouth before he realizes he wants to say them. Tommy looks up, really stares Isaac in the face for a good long minute, and Isaac can see it in his eyes when it clicks. He doesn't break eye contact as he slowly, too slowly, moves the washcloth toward the one errant drop on Isaac's right pec. Isaac stops breathing for a moment, can't bring himself to look down - but then Tommy's fingers brushing over his nipple make his eyes flutter and he isn't looking at anything at all.

Tommy takes Isaac's closed eyes and shift in breathing as some sort of permission, and Isaac feels him get a little braver, moving the washcloth with more confidence and purpose, exploring all over Isaac's torso. Isaac thinks idly that there's no way Tommy blew a load that big, he's gotta be clean by now, but does nothing to stop him.

He doesn't open his eyes when he hears a soft thud, but doesn't have time to ponder what it might've been before Tommy's fingers are back, roaming up and down his abs, washcloth - and pretense - abandoned.

Tommy hands finally come to rest on the waistband of Isaac's briefs, peeking out over the top of his skintight pants. Isaac opens his eyes to see Tommy transfixed on his own fingertips, poised to trip right over a line they've seen before but never dared to cross. Isaac doesn't want to break whatever spell Tommy's under, so he keeps his mouth shut.

Tommy, in turn, opens his. "You wanna?"

Isaac isn't sure what Tommy's asking him to do, but he is pretty sure he wants to do it. Before he loses his nerve or does something stupid like ask for clarification, he pops the button on his jeans. His cock, rock-hard the entire time, jerks at the prospect of finally getting some much-deserved attention.

"You're hard." Tommy must've sobered up some to make such a nuanced observation, Isaac thinks.

He doesn't really know how to answer. "Yeah, well. You fuckin' came on me, man. That's kinda hot." He pauses, then hastily adds "Or whatever, you know, just…whatever," in case Tommy wasn't quite on the same page.

Turns out, Tommy's whole chapters ahead of Isaac. "Fuck yeah, it was. Good timing, man, seriously. You wanna do it on me?"

Isaac's jaw drops for a second. He stares at Tommy, who doesn't flinch or back down. "Y'know, like, I just…fair's fair, right? It doesn't hafta be a thing." Isaac peers carefully at him before deciding he's being real, that this isn't a stupid drunk antic or a dare or a joke. Tommy is offering to strip and take a load to the chest. Huh.

Isaac doesn't give himself a chance to think too carefully about what that might mean. He unzips, shoves his pants and briefs down his thighs. Tommy looks on unabashedly, checks out what Isaac's packing for a minute, and his hand twitches like maybe he wants to touch and explore this part of Isaac, too. But instead, he pulls his shirt over his head and throws it on the floor, then looks Isaac straight in the eye.

Isaac doesn't look away as he grips himself, gasping a little with relief - he hadn't realized just how badly he needs to get off. He's close already, he realizes, ridiculously turned on by what he's about to do. He strokes himself once, long and slow; there's a difference between inviting your bandmate to jerk off in front of you and actually watching it happen, and he wants to gauge Tommy's reaction.

Tommy's response is to drop to his knees. "That's, like, easier. Right?" He's not really asking. He's too busy ogling. Isaac's pretty positive this is the first cock Tommy's gotten all cozy with besides his own, and he is fascinated. He watches, captivated, as Isaac speeds up his strokes, studying him as he adds a twist at the end of each one.

Isaac's breathing quickens to match his pace, and he can feel sweat beading on his chest, running down in rivulets so much like Tommy's come had done minutes before, like his is about to all over Tommy - and that's it, with that image he's just fucking done, hips jerking as he paints long white stripes all down Tommy's front.

For a moment, neither of them moves, waiting on the other to react. Finally, Tommy slowly gets to his feet, and they're staring at each other again; it's not so unlike when Isaac had accidentally barged in ten minutes ago, except for how it's not like that at all. Isaac's stomach clenches a little, and he can't stop himself thinking about how everything is changed between them now, worrying that maybe they'll never be the same again. Tommy's face is unreadable, and Isaac braces for the worst when he starts to speak.

"So, like. You could clean this up? But I'm pretty sure there are paper towels out there. And like, some JD in my bag. You wanna crash or watch a movie or whatever?"

Isaac grins. Sure, some things have changed, but the best ones never will. It's different between them now, but it's _better_. "Yeah, man, sounds awesome." He follows Tommy out of the bathroom and grabs some cups from the side table, not bothering to do up his pants, humming Metallica as he goes.


End file.
